


Pet

by Milarca



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Slave!John, Somewhat established relationship, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milarca/pseuds/Milarca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is curious, and John has no choice but to endure his exploration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pet

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Please read the tags for this fic. If you think you might be uncomfortable with slavery, noncon/dubcon, dom/sub elements, BDSM, Stockholm Syndrome, or abuse, then I would advise you to perhaps look for something else instead. This is a slavery AU, not an example of a healthy relationship. That being said, it does end on a relatively optimistic note. Also please note that Sherlock's asexuality in this fic is subtle, and might not be completely obvious. Not beta'd or Britpicked so all mistakes are mine.

“John.”

John looked up from his book to see Sherlock on his laptop.

“Yeah?”

“Bedroom. Strip.”

…  

“Alright.” He set his book on the coffee table and licked his lips.

In the bedroom, he pushed the door shut but not closed.

He stayed calm as he unbuttoned his shirt, though his heart was pounding hard in his chest and his ears had pricked, listening for any sound, threatening or no. He folded the shirt and set it on the bureau.

When he was undressed completely he sat on the bed, hands in his lap. He still couldn't hear anything from the living room. He exhaled slowly and tried to get his heartbeat under control. His skin prickled in the cool air.

Several minutes ticked by.

He heard movement coming from the living room. He half expected Sherlock to come into the room right away, but the bathroom door opened instead. He could see Sherlock’s shape through the glass. He shifted.

He could see and hear Sherlock turn on the bathtub tap.  

He tried to stay calm. He was running a bath, that much was obvious, but John didn’t dare speculate on the precise nature of Sherlock’s intent. That had gotten him into trouble before. Maybe the man got off on knowing a naked slave was waiting for him just a room over. That he could see his silhouette through the glass. John turned his eyes to the floor and glared.

The door opened just then and Sherlock was looking at him. He glanced over his naked body, lingering on his nether regions, before his eyes fell on his face again.  

“Stand up.”

John did, still covering himself.

With a twinge of his lips, Sherlock stepped forward and tugged John’s hands away from himself. John flushed further in embarrassment. Sherlock sniffed his hair, then moved behind him. John stiffened, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady.

Sherlock’s breath was warm on his shoulder, before his lips touched the heated skin. John swallowed hard. Sherlock's hands explored around his sides to his middle. With his shoe he nudged the inside of John’s foot. John made a small noise but spread his legs wider. He tried to shift his bare foot away from Sherlock’s cold shoe, but the detective was having none of it and kept them touching. John inhaled shakily.

His cock was starting to swell. Of course it was. And he had no way of hiding it from Sherlock’s searching gaze. His face flamed.  

Sherlock held him close, pulling them together so John was pressed heavily against the warm fabric of his shirt, his firm chest. John also became aware of Sherlock’s erection pushing into him. His own cock twitched and he exhaled shakily. He couldn’t help this.

And of course Sherlock knew what it was doing to him.

John wasn’t worried, exactly. He knew that Sherlock wouldn’t fuck him, at least not yet. And he had never done anything to explicitly hurt him. He wasn’t scared of that. He was nervous though, of course. Because who really knew when Sherlock Holmes would decide to conduct another one of his experiments?

What really scared him though was that he wasn’t scared. He was reacting naturally to Sherlock’s advances and he… didn’t really mind them? He even found it a bit exciting... and just how mad was _that?_

He cursed silently.

He knew there was a word for it. Feeling these things towards his captor. It was well documented. John knew what was happening to him, that it was a coping mechanism. But he couldn’t help it.

...A small part of him didn't _want_ to help it.

Sherlock’s hand moved lower, even as his other hand found one of John’s nipples and _pinched._ John bucked forward and gasped. He closed his eyes and tried not to pant.

Then he heard the sound of a bottle being squeezed. His eyes snapped open to see Sherlock pouring a dollop of lube onto his palm. He warmed it with his fingers… and then took John’s cock and began to stroke. John whimpered. He leaned back, a little stiffly at first and then relaxing further when the detective didn’t push him away.

Cautious and desperate, John reached back to tentatively hold the belt loops on Sherlock’s expensive trousers. The man didn’t even falter. He continued to stroke, and even leaned in to breathe on his ear. It felt good. No, it felt _amazing_. And the fact that John was a slave and Sherlock held his ownership papers somewhere in the flat… didn’t matter. What mattered to John, right here, right now, was Sherlock jerking him off.

Because it felt _so fucking_ —

“ _Please, please_ —” John whimpered, knowing he was close.

“How near are you?” Sherlock said into his ear. John keened, shaking and pushing back into him. Sherlock held his chest firmly. “ _Tell me,_ ” he insisted, slowing.

“No, don’t—” John whimpered. “ _Gnnn_ close _sososo_ close.”

“How _long_?” Sherlock said through his teeth, picking up the pace.

“I don’t _know,_ ” John hissed breathlessly. He felt so good and hot and Sherlock was only _ruining_ —

“ _Estimate_.”

“ _Oh for Christ’s_ —A _minute. Maybe,_ ” he said sarcastically, whining high in his throat as Sherlock quickened his strokes. He could feel it coming. Just a little more—

A sharp pressure abruptly cut off his impending release. His heart faltered.

“What did you—?!”

“John!” Sherlock’s grip tightened on him but John managed to wrench out of his arms. Sherlock easily pulled him around by the shoulder.

And slapped him.

John’s head snapped to the side with the force.

He exhaled in shock, his cheek on fire.   

Sherlock’s expression was hostile, his eyes cold. He grabbed John’s arm and pulled him closer. John whimpered and forced himself not to fight.

“You will _not_ pull away from me again, John,” Sherlock said, voice chilly. “ _Do. you. understand?_ ”

John could only look at him in shock, stiff with humiliation and fear. There was a special kind of horror standing naked in front of the man who had just nearly wanked you off and then slapped you for bloody _disobedience._ He felt like a child again. He clenched his jaw. His throat felt too sore to reply, and his eyes were dangerously hot.

“ _Answer me._ ”

John flinched and tears welled and escaped down his cheek. Another tear fell and he blinked, swallowing hard and trying to get a grip on himself.

“Yes,” he croaked, throat burning. His eyes were dull and he had tears on his face. He couldn’t look Sherlock in the eye. He could tell Sherlock was searching his face, and then the man touched his chin. John flinched but didn’t pull back, and Sherlock thumbed his lower lip.

“Good.” Sherlock’s eyes crackled, his lip curling up ever slightly, and there was a hunger in his eyes John had never seen before.

He moved a hand to his cheek and John clenched his jaw.  

But Sherlock only wiped a tear away. First from one cheek and then the other. And then, face only slightly less thunderous, he leaned in, took his face in both hands, and kissed him.

John froze, horrified and in shock. Sherlock’s mouth was warm and wet and greedy on his. And he stood there and took it, shuddering. He started to cry again, and Sherlock stilled, lips lingering on his, and then his hands moved lower down. John squirmed, hands wanting to move lower in protection, not ready for—

—Sherlock to pull him close.  

John froze, stunned. But as Sherlock continued to hold him, he relaxed.

Then he whimpered, a rush of emotions flooding his frayed system. He melted into the tight embrace, taking the gesture of comfort and running with it. He didn’t know if it was a trick or not, but he was too exhausted to care. He pushed his face into Sherlock’s shirt and wept, shuddering violently and accepting the relief of Sherlock’s hand on his back. He hated Sherlock and he craved him. He was a bastard and a prick, but he was there for him. Even if he was usually the one to cause his strife in the first place.  

John cried. He cried until there was nothing more, and he was left ragged and sniffling. Sherlock rubbed his back soothingly.

Eventually his breathing came slower and he coughed only occasionally. Sherlock felt so warm and good. When he was calm enough, he shifted. Sherlock loosened his hold cautiously, and John moved his arms and held Sherlock around the middle, breathing in his rich, musky scent.

There was no movement from Sherlock, but then he hugged him back, tighter. John sighed with relief. With gratitude, at the steady, secure arms around him. Even if they only lasted a minute.  

He was beginning to feel sleepy and tired. And lonely and sore. He wanted to be held like this forever.

Sherlock rubbed him, just breathing. Holding him up and breathing.

Time slowed, the room seemed to darken.

John jerked suddenly. He had fallen asleep. He blinked and groaned, leaning against Sherlock as the detective steadied them both. He kissed John’s forehead and John swallowed, feeling numb.

“Alright. I think it’s time for your bath.”

John stiffened, but didn’t have the energy to protest.

He allowed himself to be tugged to the bathroom. The tile was cold on his feet but Sherlock helped him into the clear bathwater. He kept his knees together, and Sherlock noticed.

“No, no, no,” Sherlock reprimanded, pulling them apart separately. John’s cock twitched. “...You belong to me now, John,” Sherlock said quietly, touching his face. John blushed and stiffened some more.

Sherlock’s hand stayed on his thigh, then teased lower, and John could only stare. His cock was now hard in the water and something stirred deep down in his belly.

Sherlock laughed, lips at his ear.

“You’re aroused by this, pet.” He nibbled delicately at the lobe.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, well…” Sherlock’s breath fanned his face as he tugged his chin forward so they were looking at each other. His lips shimmered. “You don’t have much of a choice anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.” John’s eyes were red as he clenched his jaw. Sherlock smiled. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

John’s face flamed.

Sherlock leaned in suddenly and kissed him hard. John blinked in surprise and refused to participate. Though when Sherlock pulled away, John’s eyes flicked traitorously to Sherlock’s lips before he turned away.

Sherlock grabbed his head and pulled him in again, kissing his hair and nuzzling behind his ear. John growled low in his throat, though that only seemed to excite Sherlock more and the man nipped and sucked at his skin with vigour.

Despite his anger, John’s cock was near fully hard and it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore it. He sagged when Sherlock released him.

Sherlock cleared his throat and then there was a plastic bucket in the bath and Sherlock was filling it up with water. John watched, curious yet still irritated. They had never done this before.

“Close your eyes.”

John did, but still wasn’t prepared for the slightly too warm water being poured over his head. He sputtered and pushed his hair back, inhaling sharply.

“Now that wasn’t so bad.” Sherlock said smoothly.

John grunted, and couldn’t help the faint twitch of his lips.

Sherlock poured shampoo onto his hands, and then began to lather up John’s hair. John clenched his jaw. Well, he couldn’t deny the sensation was at least a bit pleasant.  

He drew his knees partly together automatically and then froze. Sherlock slowed.

Slowly, he opened them again, flushing and hot, and Sherlock continued. John’s cock jumped in the water. He nearly whimpered.

He knew that was the point of this. To make him feel as humiliated as possible. He swallowed. He couldn’t control himself and he couldn’t even control if Sherlock _saw_ or not.

This did turn him on though. He couldn’t deny it. He was turned on by all of this. And Sherlock knew it. Of course Sherlock bloody did.

He closed his eyes and let Sherlock massage and wash him.

Sherlock rinsed his hair after several minutes, used conditioner and then rinsed him fully several times more. He then nuzzled behind his ear, kissed him softly, and inhaled.

“You smell good.”

John looked at the wall.

“Now lie back,” he said.

John shot Sherlock a look but couldn’t glean anything about what they were about to do. He laid back, and relaxed when he realized it was actually a comfortable position.

“Hands on your thighs. Don’t move. Good boy.”

Goosebumps rose on John’s skin even as he tensed.

Sherlock’s hand dipped under the water and John squeezed his eyes shut.

At first he didn’t feel anything... and then a finger traced his length. He inhaled and stiffened.

Sherlock took him in hand, and started to jerk him off. John hardened, and whimpered, and arched off the back of the tub. It felt _good_.  

Sherlock continued.

“Open your eyes. Watch.”

John shook his head briefly but opened his eyes and looked ahead. He couldn’t—

“ _Look_ , John,” Sherlock said, and John forced his eyes down. Sherlock was jerking him off under the water. He was full and red, his pubic hair swaying in the water. He flushed and licked his lips. Sherlock quickened his pace, eyes flicking between John’s face and his cock.

“You can come anytime you want, John. I’m not going to stop you.”

John moaned as the sensations built. He whimpered. What if this was a trick, despite what Sherlock said? No, it couldn’t be, and even if it was he certainly wasn’t going to stop. He moaned and his fingers dug into his skin as he struggled to stay still. So _good…_

He arched back and came with a squirt of white into the water. He cried out and went boneless, shuddering as the heat enveloped him. He didn’t dare move his hands from his thighs so he couldn’t concentrate completely on his orgasm, but it felt _amazing_ anyway. He moaned contentedly.

Sherlock dipped something into the water and then put his hand back and waved it around with interest. John watched lazily, his cock soft and swaying in the water. He felt a little too hot all of a sudden, but couldn't be arsed to move.

John noticed the pail in Sherlock’s hand again, as he filled it up with water.

“Sit up, John.”

John moaned but shifted up when Sherlock’s hand slipped behind his back to push a little. And then the bucket was over his head and John knew exactly what was in that bucket and Sherlock wasn’t seriously going to—

Water poured over his head and he made a strangled noise and jerked away. “ _Oy!_ ” John’s first instinct was to hit the bucket out of Sherlock’s hand, but of course he didn’t. They stared at each other, both in shock.

Then before John could realize what was happening, Sherlock had taken a small remote from his pocket.

John inhaled sharply, focus suddenly pinpointed on the back of his neck, to just under the skin. Where the chip was. 

His mouth opened and his fingers tensed, as if to protest. But he knew that would only make it worse for himself. _Please. Not now._

“I told you not to jerk away from me, pet,” Sherlock said, right before he pressed it.

The electricity jolted through him like a lightning bolt entering through his neck and he _yelped_. The pain was immediate and searing and he cried out again, grabbing his neck and whimpering. He pulled his knees together and shuddered in the middle of the tub. Why couldn’t Sherlock just _leave him the bloody fuck alone?!_ He swallowed fresh tears. He knew Sherlock had probably already been annoyed with him but he couldn’t _help_ it. He wasn’t going to just—just—just _stay complacent_ while Sherlock did these things to him like a rag doll. He couldn’t.  

But he was tired. He was _so_ tired.

And there was nothing he could do but endure whatever Sherlock threw at him. Because the madman could kill him if he wanted. Or sell him back. John hated it, but he knew he was relatively well cared for here. He knew he even _liked_ it sometimes. Liked Sherlock’s attentions. Even if he was basically treated like a glorified pet.

He was silent in the bath, curled protectively and tightly around himself and feeling strange and tense and humiliated.

Sherlock left him alone.

Eventually, he relaxed, too tired to hold the position any longer. Too tired to care.

He saw Sherlock move in his peripheral vision, felt him brush his chin and turn his head towards him, his touch light. John didn’t fight it. He didn’t fight it as Sherlock then pulled him close and held the back of his head, rubbing soothingly. And he sighed, enjoying the heaviness.

John didn’t flinch when Sherlock’s lips touched his, just brushed them, then pressed against them. And he was too tired to stay frozen, too strung out and sad not to reciprocate. He kissed Sherlock back, weakly, only, but Sherlock’s fervor was enough for them both. He kissed John _hard_ , over and over, moving to his cheeks and his eyes, and his ears. He rubbed John’s back, staying away from his neck. John winced, still a bit nervous, and Sherlock leaned in to kiss the junction of his neck, no higher, softly.

He kissed John gingerly on the forehead as well.

His lips lingered, and John knew what he was trying to say. It didn’t make up for anything, but John appreciated the physical aspect of it.  

Sherlock moved John back gently.

He picked up the pail again, and, this time, John didn’t try to stop him. He closed his eyes in the pause, the water pail over his head. Sherlock poured it, and water doused him again. The detective did this again, and again.  

When it was over he kissed his damp cheek.

“My good boy.”

John flushed.

Honestly it was actually kind of weirdly hot getting a bucket of semen-water dumped on your head. He just wished… he wished Sherlock would bloody _ask_ him first. Though he doubted that would ever happen.

Sherlock beckoned him to stand up, and then wrapped him in a fluffy towel. John accepted the towel gratefully, tucking it around himself. He stepped out and Sherlock dried his hair off, holding his head close, inhaling his scent, and kissing him several dozen times. John sighed. Sherlock loved to kiss him. And he had to admit he enjoyed it, somewhat. It made the unpleasantness of the day ache a little less.

Sherlock pulled John’s towel gently from his hands and dried the rest of his body off with it. He handled his privates gently. John hardened again at the touch and Sherlock watched him, enraptured. John closed his eyes.

Which shot open when he felt Sherlock’s lips on the head of his cock.

John stared, baffled.

Sherlock quickly moved on to drying his feet. John was confused. Sherlock had never done that before. Sure, he knew the man liked to pleasure him in certain ways, but he had never initiated something like _that_ before.

John shivered, the touch lingering in his memory. _Oh, god._

Sherlock led him back into the bedroom and had him sit on the bed. John’s hands fidgeted in his lap as he watched Sherlock get out sleep clothes.

When Sherlock turned to him he moved his hands to the bed, still nervous about what Sherlock wanted to see.

Sherlock set the clothes down and knelt by John’s side, eyes flickering to his cock.

“Good boy.”

John snuffed gently.  

“Now, hands behind your back.”

He complied, clasping his hands together. He felt slightly better like this.

Sherlock turned his attention back towards his cock, nestled in soft pubic hair between his legs. Sherlock touched it gently and it twitched.

It was almost comical the way Sherlock was going about it, but when he ran a finger lightly down the length of it, trailing the tip around the head, John couldn’t help but groan as he stiffened once again in response. He closed eyes.

Sherlock pushed his legs apart and he put up only a smidge of resistance. Sherlock knelt between his legs, his eyes only rarely leaving his cock. John twitched and Sherlock’s eyes widened.  

But John wanted friction and he moaned and shifted, closing his eyes and leaning back on his forearms.

Then he felt a heat on the tip; Sherlock’s tongue, again. John whimpered, not quite believing what he was feeling. Not believing that this was real. It made no sense.

Sherlock swirled his tongue around the sensitive skin, then leaned back. There was a second of silence, then John could hear a bottle being squeezed. A moment later Sherlock started to work him with lube. It felt good but he was still tender and it almost hurt. He bit his lip, about to tell Sherlock to be careful, but wasn’t sure how he would take the suggestion.

Sherlock’s lips touched him again, lightly, and his tongue swirled about the head. Without warning, he took the whole head in his mouth and John groaned, bucking his hips. Sherlock immediately removed his mouth and grabbed John’s legs.

“Be _still_ , John.”

John bit his lip to keep from laughing and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, alright, alright. Sorry.” This was surreal. He glanced down and saw that Sherlock was flushed pink. He sobered and leaned back fully so he was lying down. This was madness.

Sherlock shifted and then licked and sucked at the glans. John had to force himself not to buck because _bloody hell_ it felt good. He released himself over to the sensation as Sherlock took him in his mouth again. He pushed in deeper, taking more and more of him. John stiffened and then it started to hurt slightly. He was so over sensitive, but Sherlock continued, sucking and licking and swirling his tongue around like a boy off the street.

For about four minutes John had what was probably the best head of his life. He moaned and tried not to shift around too much. He had stiffened completely but wasn’t coming anytime soon. It usually took him at _least_ another few hours to work up enough to come again. Sometimes half a day or more.

Now he was just riding the wave of continued pleasure.

Finally though, Sherlock finished. He licked him once more and sniffed. John’s cock softened slightly. He held John’s thighs and brushed them with his thumbs before kissing one tenderly, then the other. He moved up, kissing his way up his belly and abdomen. John sighed, happy to accept the continued tenderness. Sherlock moved over him. He took his hands and pulled them above his head, and looked into his eyes. John stared back, mesmerized by the blue-green-gold of Sherlock’s irises. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling right now. And he didn’t know if he wanted to think about it too deeply.

It wasn’t love. Not that. But… something like affection, even taking into account the man had slapped and shocked him both in the space of two hours.   

Sherlock kissed him again, softly, and John kissed back. Sherlock brushed their noses together and kissed his eyes, and looked at him gently.

John held his breath.

The moment seemed to stretch on forever.

But then Sherlock shifted, and moved off of him. John sat up, a little shakily.

Sherlock took the pants and held them out expectantly. “Step in,” he said. John stepped into them and Sherlock wiggled them up. He offered him the bottoms next. These he stepped into as well, and felt slightly better once they were on. Sherlock then got his arms up and put the t-shirt on him as well.

John swayed, slightly dizzy, and Sherlock grabbed him around the middle and helped him to the side of the bed. He turned the covers down and got him under, tucking him in and nuzzling his hair. John sighed, happy for the warmth at least.

Sherlock changed, turned off the light, and joined him. He pulled John close and John wiggled to get comfortable. The detective held him gently and intertwined their legs. He pressed his nose to John’s hair and kissed him, breathing him in.

John sighed, and slipped into a deep sleep. 


End file.
